Tag Archives: tractor

Carla Drift – Nomadic existence 2

A new nomadic existence began after the (temporal) goodbye to the village of my youth – now an existence without purpose. Since my childhood I always had a motive to an end. In elementary school I read adventures about knights and adventurers and I wanted to know everything about the universe and about biology. In high school literature, mathematics and natural sciences were added. As the oldest daughter it was my duty to set an example. In Delft, I was preoccupied by my study natural sciences and I lost myself in a love affair; both were a dead-end path. With humanities I found a new point of focus in Amsterdam. My work in this area occupied me completely, and research in the tropics took a part of my health. Behind the wheel on the tractor I suddenly had no goal, except the road ahead.

Spring had started and I drove to the South in the direction of the sun. The road went to France via Belgium. The first few days my new nomadic existence occupied me fully. In my student days I had made long treks on my bike to South Europe. The humming of the bicycle tires was my companion, now the rumble of the diesel engine was my company. After a few hours this monotone sound along with the vibration of the tractor was quite tiring. With my temperate health I had to look for accommodation after three or four hour drive around mid-afternoon. Sometimes it was a camping place, often I camped in the wild.


Almost always I met nice and helpful people; I spoke with them about my trek and sometimes we told about each other’s lives. Travelling on my own I saw many special things: a cock between a group of ducks. A few days I travelled with a woman with a parrot on her shoulder. We went the same way this part of our journey. Her bike was placed in the caravan and she and her parrot sat next to me on the tractor. She started to drift after her divorce and the death of her ex-husband. So hard for her to choose between the relief and the grief of losing. The Parrot was her companion for conversation and together they did performances on market places for their living. I think they were for another part dependent on charity and begging, but we did not talk about this.


This extraordinary woman gave me the idea to juggle for some earnings. During daytime I started practicing. Over time I mastered the art of juggling with three balls and three clubs. With these acts I could do the beginning and middle of my performance; the apotheosis was the dancing stick [3] with burning tips.


By a helpful man who helped me with a flat tyre of my caravan, I came in touch with a board of a school that immediately needed a lecturer mathematics until the summer holidays. A day later I was teacher of mathematics.

The first lesson I asked who knew what a derivative and an integral meant. Fortunately, many students could tell how it was done: luckily they had learned it well. But no one could answer me what these actions meant. I explained that these particular mathematical acts were addition and subtraction in a specific manner. The students laughed at me in disbelief because they thought this statement was absurd. A derivative is the manner whereby the change of a function is reduced or increased over a certain way/time – so it is a special way of addition and subtraction. An integral is the manner in which the increase or decrease takes place over a certain way or time – therefore also a special way of addition and subtraction. After some examples from physics and everyday life, their curiosity was aroused for mathematics.


The next school year there was a need for a teacher for physics. This class did not like physics at all. Several opinion leaders preferred computer war-games. I kept hidden that I knew the consequences of wars far too well – again playing hide and seek.

I chose a different approach; I asked what they knew about physics. In response, I started a round of arm wrestling with the strongest boy: fortunately I won. The warmongers I showed a photo of a fighter plane that passed the sound barrier emerging with a lens-shaped condensation cloud. The ecologists I showed photos of solar cars. These topics nicely fitted within the subjects for physics for that school year.


After half a year the solar cars was calculated, the warmongers knew what a bullet trajectory, energy and impact was, and they learned the meaning of momentum with arm wrestling. At the end of my year in this class I had another round of arm wrestling: now the young man won, as it should.


A short time after the second interim period, a dark page was written in the history of my life. Someone attacked my honour and my life. By self-defence I saved my life. According to my feeling and reason this act was legally and ethically permissible, but I crossed the border of moral crimes investigator to a person committing such an act. Emotionally I stood between doers of these crimes. I had lost my innocence; a part of me had died.

A winter followed in which I met Narrator.


My publisher has its new website available:


[1] Source image: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Camping

[2] Source image: http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Papegaaien

[3] See also: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Devil_sticks

[4] Source image: http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jongleren

[5] Source image: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mathematics

[6] Source image: http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Natuurkunde

[7] Source image: http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zonnewagen

Carla Drift – Nomadic existence

Carla Drift – Nomadic existence

I cannot write more about my work in the area of crimes against humanity, because I will bring other people and myself in great danger. With state secrets, secret services, authorities and powers which have added stark dark pages to history, one cannot be too careful.

In Western Europe, many people think that this dark pages are written by authorities and powers in distant countries. From South Limburg I did not have to travel far. South Limburg itself had never had many ambitions to fulfil a role in world history, maybe robber gangs like the “buck riders” [1] added a few footnotes to history. I leave further research into black pages in history by South Limburg to others.


From my village in South Limburg I did not need to travel far for a number of my investigations. With a few hours walk to the East, I arrived in Germany with crimes against humanity during the Second World War. With a few hours walking to the West, Belgium is located with Congo as black pages in history; in elementary school we only learned the abuses against fathers and sisters and massacres of innocent believers, but later more became known [3]. To the North, Holland is located with its dark history in the slave trade. Also dark pages were written during the suppression of rebellions in Indonesia [4] where a President of the Council of Ministers [5] in his early years has personally played an active role. Finally – against the wishes of Holland – Indonesia became independent after a war that was called police actions [6] in Holland. I was involved in investigation into war-crimes during this war. Furthermore I have done research on all seven continents – also in Australia with Aborigines and in North America with the world power.


After every research in the tropics, I came home exhausted and sick. Luckily I still had places at home where I could recover. In Amsterdam I had my room in the house of friends of Man and me for a long time. When I came home in South Limburg there were always happy faces – when I came and when I went again; I was always greeted as the prodigal daughter but I was too independent and bold – “vreg”; the pastor, the Mayor and the City Council noticed this pretty fast. In short, several temporary places to recover and to make preparations for new investigations with all adventures involved. Always under a disguise playing a game of hide-and-seek in order not to be unmasked with all fatal consequences involved.

About 10 years ago, I left my room in Amsterdam, because the friends of Man and I decided to live in a smaller apartment at their old age. Their beautiful house in the Centre of Amsterdam was sold. I left my room with a rucksack, a sleeping bag, a bivouac sack, lightweight camping gear and some clothes. All my books were in the University libraries – with a number of library cards easily accessible. I sold my other belongings. All in all, an enormous wealth.

Several years ago I came back from a research in the tropics – but now I was seriously ill. I did not recover fully: after small efforts I was quickly tired. I noticed in my body and soul that tropics years counted double; After some 20 years in the tropics I had reached my retirement at the age of 50 years old . With my savings and some small consultancies, I could bridge the time until my “state pension”.

After a nomadic existence of researcher with recovery periods in Amsterdam with friends and in South Limburg with family, I was now dependent on a new place to live. In South Limburg I did belong any longer in the society of the village where I grew up – I left too long ago. My father and mother were proud grandparents of the children of both my sisters. These nephews and nieces were almost independent – two were studying, one was craftsman and the youngest was still following high school. My sisters were happily married with nice partners. My friend from my childhood was well either. He came along when I was in Amsterdam for a visit to world city with all its challenges. Sometimes he visited me abroad. How welcome the home nest in South Limburg might appear, I did not belong there any more.

I was a nomad, but a nomad who needed a roof during bad weather and cold nights. Through friends I bought a caravan that was adapted for wintertime.


There was another problem: I had no driving licence and I did not want to get one. Trough acquaintances in South Limburg, I bought a small tractor. My father checked the tractor on shortcomings. I think no tractor was ever so thoroughly checked, because my father intuitively felt that this might be one of the last things he could do for me – his problem child and apple of his eye.


The village waved me goodbye when I left with tractor – caravan combination and I waved back, again only happy faces. The following post is about the treks with this tractor – caravan combination.


My publisher has its new website available:


[1] See also: http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bokkenrijders

[2] Source image:  http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bokkenrijders

[3] See also: Reybrouck, David Van, “Congo – Een geschiedenis van”. Amsterdam: De Bezige Bij, 2010

[4] See also: http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atjehoorlog

[5] See also: http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hendrikus_Colijn

[6] See also: http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Politionele_acties

[7] Source image: http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aborigines_(Australi%C3%AB)

[8] Source image: http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caravan_(aanhangwagen)

[9] Source image: http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tractor